


Strange Bedfellows

by corchen



Category: Sanctuary (TV), Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corchen/pseuds/corchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in France investigating a spate of strange deaths, Helena and Myka run into Helen and Ashley Magnus - both Helena and Helen have some explaining to do...<br/>Written for the International Day of Femslash 2011 for the prompt 'Helena and Myka run into the Sanctuary team on an artifact retrieval. Helen and Helena are surprised to see each other again 100+ years later.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bedfellows

_19th June, 1767  
Beal Ravine, Margeride Mountains, France_

 _Young Jean Chastel clutched the musket in trembling fingers, making a silent prayer for steady hands and a true aim. He had trained for this moment all of his life, he could not fail his obligation now. He took a deep breath, and began to pray out loud, reciting an ancient supplication for strength against evil. His brother joined him, lending his voice to Jean's and they drew strength from each other, their voices ringing steadily out across the ravine where the Beast had committed it's last atrocity._

 _Then he realised that his brother was no longer reciting with him but had instead fallen silent and was staring with wide eyes at a spot over Jean's shoulder. Slowly, Jean turned, raising the musket as he did so. There, not ten feet away, standing in a gap in the bushes, stood the Beast. It was the size of a small horse, bigger than any wolf should grow, and it's fur stood in greasy clumps on it's body, matted with blood from the failed attempts on its life. Its lips were pulled back from its huge fangs in a silent snarl, and Chastel knew that his aim must be true now or this would be the last sight he would ever see._

 _"You will kill no more," he whispered, and it seemed that the Beast heard him for it gathered itself up for a mighty leap._

 _It sprang, and Chastel fired, and although the Beast leapt through the air and knocked him down, it was a corpse that pinned him to the ground. The Beast would terrorise Gévaudan no more._

***

 _Present Day  
Just outside Univille, South Dakota, USA_

"Artie, man, ping on the weird-shit-o-meter."

Claudia wheeled her chair sideways so that Artie could see her computer screen. She'd finally ironed out all of the kinks in her automated retrieval system - figuring out the weighting for National Enquirer stories had been a bitch, considering that sometimes they got things right - and this one had 'Warehouse' written all over it.

>   
> **'Beast of Gévaudan Strikes Again'**
> 
> Citizens of France's Lozère department have taken to locking their doors at night and venturing out only between the hours of dawn and dusk due to a recent spate of vicious murders - murders which bear more than a passing resemblance to the famed legend of the Beast of Gévaudan - a werewolf that terrorised the very same area of France in the Eighteenth Century. Does the Beast walk again? Our cryptozoology expert explains on page 7!

The rest of the article went on to detail how several bodies had been found in the area around Marvejols, site of many of the attacks attributed to the Beast of Gévaudan. The bodies bore marks similar to those left by wolf attacks – but no wolf had a bite the size of the wounds found. Sceptics claimed that these attacks were obviously the work of wolves that had escaped from the nearby 'Parc du Gévaudan', a wilderness park housing almost a hundred wolves, but had been unable to explain why the bite marks were so immense. Claudia's peremptory search of the database had turned up several artefacts that could explain the murders, from Russian wolfskin girdles to Dr Jekyll's potion – although she thought that the site of the murders did point rather more towards a 'werewolf' artefact.

"That certainly looks like one of ours," Artie nodded, patting her absent-mindedly on the head. "Well done. I'll see what I can find out from the autopsy reports but it looks like a trip to France is in order - I don't suppose any of you speak French?"

"I do," Myka said, looking up. "Badly, but it's better than nothing."

"It'll have to do," Artie said with a shrug. "I'm sure we can co-opt an interpreter if need be, although I'd rather not have to bring an outsider in on a Warehouse case."

He was interrupted by Helena's laconic drawl as she leaned back in her chair, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced over at him.

"Actually, you won't have to," she told him, rather smugly, he thought. "I lived in Paris for quite some time and whilst I suppose that my French is as archaic as my English was when I first... awoke, it will do quite well. If you have no objections?"

Artie could not, unfortunately, think of any objections, so he settled for a shrug, and the observation that perhaps the autopsy reports would show that this was just more Enquirer nonsense. Helena hid a smile behind her hand, but shot Myka an impish wink once Artie's back was safely turned. Myka shook her head and tried to look stern but she never could resist Helena when she was being impish, and she relented with one of the wide smiles that Helena loved to see.

France! Helena hoped that there would be time around the investigation to show Myka some of her favourite parts of the country. France was full of so much history, it couldn't possibly all have disappeared in a scant hundred years. After all, many of her favourite London haunts had still been there, albeit wearing new clothes. The original body had been there, once you could see past all the new glitz and glamour.

***

It had been an exhausting journey, with two changes of plane – the second one had been very tight indeed and they had found themselves running through the airport to make their third flight. At least they had the connections to have the plane held for them, even if they had incurred the wrath of the other passengers. Myka had slept on every leg of the journey – Helena found it harder to do so. She still found it a thrilling experience to be travelling so fast, so high up in the air – she would never take for granted the amazing advances that mankind had made in such a short time. Every day, it seemed, she discovered some new aspect of life that made her stop and blink in amazement. She would probably still be encountering such things if she were to live for another hundred years.

Myka was very sweet when she slept. Her face lost that guarded expression she so often wore when she was awake and in repose she looked almost innocent. Her lips were slightly parted and there was a strand of hair lying across her mouth, shifting lightly with every breath that she took. Carefully, Helena reached over to move it and as her fingers brushed Myka's face her nose wrinkled and she shifted in her sleep, half raising a hand to brush Helena's fingers away. Then she yawned and snuggled further down under her thin airline blanket.

Helena caught herself in a yawn too and she slid a little further down in her own seat, pulling her blanket up to her chin. It was chilly in the cabin, and it was black outside the thick windows – she wouldn't miss anything by sleeping, and she should try to be rested for their arrival. They still had several hours drive once they finally landed in France before they reached their destination, it would be as well to try and get some sleep. If she could sleep – this pane was much smaller than the others had been, seating only sixteen people, and it felt a lot less safe than the others had. Still, maybe she was tired enough to sleep...

It was light outside when the plane touched down, waking Helena from her deep sleep with a start as the wheels touched down onto the runway and the plane bounced slightly before settling onto the ground. Helena found that she was gripping the arm-rest in between their seats as she tried to calm the pounding of her heart. She had never been fond of sudden awakenings at the best of times, and awakening to feel as if you had just dropped out of the sky – or rather, to feel that you had in fact dropped out of the sky – did not rank among her favourite ways to wake up. Myka was still fast asleep. Helena grinned, before she set about waking the other woman.

Myka was still not entirely awake when they made it out of the airport, rubbing blearily at her eyes with one hand and clutching a large paper cup of coffee with the other as if it contained the elixir of life itself. Which, Helena thought to herself with no small amount of amusement, it probably did. Helena had both of their bags, her own duffle balanced on top of Myka's small wheeled case. Myka had been too out of it to object when Helena had taken her bag and steered her towards the coffee stand, although Helena suspected that state of affairs wouldn't last long. Myka was fiercely independant, something which she admired but which could on occasion be extremely irritating. Besides, her motive wasn't entirely selfless – Myka would be driving them for the remainder of their journey, and Helena had no wish for her to fall asleep behind the wheel of the car.

It took two cups of coffee before Myka was awake enough to drive – and she then insisted that Helena get into the back and sleep while she drove them to their final destination. Helena protested – but Myka prevailed. She usually did where Helena was concerned. It was pathetic, really.

“The shadows under your eyes have shadows,” Myka told her. “I know you didn't really sleep on the plane, and I did – I'm fine now that I've woken up properly. Take a nap in the back and that way we'll both be functional when we get to Marvejols. I need you awake – my French is atrocious.”

“Your accent certainly is,” Helena murmured, smiling sweetly at Myka's petulant scowl. “But you don't need me here – aside from the accent, your French is fine. Why did you tell Artie it was so awful?”

She settled herself into the back of the car, folding her coat into a comfortable cushion behind her head and unzipping her boots. Her feet were feeling hot and swollen after so long in a cramped airline seat. She remembered the days of railway sleeper cabins fondly – why couldn't airplanes have a similar arrangement?

“Honestly?” Myka asked, pulling out of the rental carpark. “Because I already knew that your French is flawless, and that Artie still needs an excuse to send you on missions.”

Helena sighed, closing her eyes against the bright morning sun that was shining onto her face. Would she ever really be a member of the team?

“It's just Artie being stubborn,” Myka continued, when Helena remained silent. “He doesn't really have a problem with you any more – he just doesn't like to admit that he was wrong about you. He'll come around.”

“I just wish he would 'come around' a little faster,” Helena admitted drowsily, half-asleep already in warm sun.

Myka glanced into the rearview mirror and smiled at Helena's closed eyes, her face already relaxing into sleep. It wasn't often that she got to see Helena unguarded. For all that Helena's emotions often showed on her expressive face, there was an element of guardedness to her. She might seem open, but Myka knew that anything that showed was only visible because Helena allowed it to be. There were many aspects to her that did not show on her face – and this unguarded vulnerability was one of them.

***

Myka enjoyed the drive through the quiet French countryside, the early-morning sun lending a stark crispness to the landscape that emphasised its beauty. They were heading higher up into the Margeride mountain range and with every turn of the narrow road the vistas that stretched out became more breath-taking. When the road took a turn around the head of a valley and the full breadth of the landscape became visible, she couldn't help but stop the car. They'd been driving for almost two hours and were very near to their destination – it wouldn't hurt to stop for a moment. She pulled over to the side of the road and parked, getting out of the car and leaning on the hood, just taking in the scenery.

The sky was a brilliant, clear blue, stretching almost unbroken from horizon to horizon, with only a few small, high, starykly white clouds to break its span. The vibrant blue was refelcted just a shade darker in the small lake that huddled at the bottom of the valey, surrounded by heath that was yellow-green in the sun, its grass dried to a buttery shade by the summer heat. Here and there the heath was broken by great grey granite boulders that hulked, solemn and silent, casting deep shadows over the grass. On the far side of the lake was a woodland, green and cool looking.

“It's lovely, isn't it?”

Myka jumped – she hadn't heard Helena getting out of the car, she had been so distracted by the beauty of the scene in front of her. Helena smiled at her as she took up a spot leaning on the hood of the car, so close to Myka that their shoulders brushed together and Myka could feel the loose waves of Helena's hair tickling her bare upper arm.

“Beautiful,” she agreed, and they both remained silent, neither of them wanting or needing to spoil the moment with words.

Finally, by some silent mutual decision, they both returned to the car, Helena taking up the passenger seat this time. Myka didn't object – Helena had slept soundly while they drove, and they would reach their destination in less than half an hour.

***

 _“What do you mean, the bodies have already been autopsied? We had been informed that the latest victims be held pending our investigation. Well, I would appreciate it if you could provide us with more specifics, thank you.”_ Helena gave an exasperated sigh as the young woman on the desk excused herself to go and find out what exactly had happened, and turned to Myka.

“It seems as if the bodies have already left the premises, although I couldn't find out why or with whom,” she explained. “They have perfectly adequate facilities here.”

Myka had been able to follow the conversation for the most part, but Helena's French became very rapid when she was agitated and the girl she had been talking to had an accent that Myka found hard to understand, so she was grateful for the translation. She was just as confused as Helena, though. While the deaths were obviously not in their jurisdiction in any way, the French police had seemed more than happy to hold the bodies for them – the situation was very confusing.

They didn't have to wait very long for an answer.

 _“A team of specialists flew in from America just this morning to perform the autopsy on the latest victims – we could not hold the bodies for you, I am very sorry. I can give you contact details for the specialists though – I am sure they will be happy to help.”_

She handed Helena a printout with an address in town and a few names and telephone numbers. Helena glanced down at the page, and frowned. No – it had to be a co-incidence.

“Helena?” Myka touched her arm, a concerned look on her face. Helena had gone as white as a sheet for a moment there. “Are you alright?”

Helena shook herself, handing the paper to Myka. “I'm absolutely fine, thank you. Just a touch of déjà vu.”

Myka cocked her head and eyed Helena quizzically, but the other woman did not seem inclined to elaborate, so after a moment she shrugged, and headed back to the car. The address on the paper was on the other side of town, but it wouldn't take them long to get there. As she drove, she continued stealing looks at Helena, who was still frowning slightly and staring out of the window with a distant look on her face. Myka was sure that whatever she was seeing, it wasn't the beautiful French architecture.

She knew better than to try and draw Helena out of her shell when she was in that sort of introspective mood, though. Helena would never tell her what was going on in her head, and things always seemed strained if she pushed it – it was better to just let her work it out on her own, however much Myka wanted Helena to just let her help. By the time they made it across town and pulled up outside the address they had been given, Helena seemed to have shaken off her odd mood, and was cheerful again, although there still seemed to be some tension in the set of her shoulders.

“It doesn't look like any kind of scientific facility,” Myka said, looking up at the nondescript house with confusion. “This is a residential neighbourhood.”

It was a large house, old, made of the local granite with a high fence hiding the garden, although there were mature trees showing over the top of the fence, and a two-car garage set a little way aside from the house. There was no sign of life – aside from the car and motorbike parked outside, there was no sign that anyone might be in. In fact, most of the windows were shuttered – the house had an air of 'do not approach' that was a little foreboding.

“Well, we should see if anyone's home, I suppose,” Myka said, after several minutes had passed with neither of them moving.

Helena didn't say anything, but she did open the car door and move towards the house. Myka blinked at her, then shrugged, and followed her. Helena was in a very odd mood today, it would seem. The strangest things could trigger her mercurial mood changes, though – Myka was perplexed by almost all of them, so this really wasn't anything new.

Helena pressed the door buzzer and moved a little to one side to allow Myka to join her on the door step. She was tapping the toe of her boot, and if Myka didn't know better she would say that she was nervous. But Helena Wells was never nervous.

Eventually, just when they were about to give up, the door was opened by a young blonde wearing more tight black leather than strictly necessary, who stood in the doorway, blocking their view into the house, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Yes?” Her tone wasn't quite rude, but it narrowly skirted it. She was also obviously American, so at least they had the right address.

Myka held up her badge, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“Great. Just what we needed. I guess you'd better come in. I'll get Mom.” She opened the door to let them in, steering them towards the front room. “I'll be back in a minute.”

She was actually back in closer to ten minutes, and Helena and Myka were about to go looking for her, when she came back into the room followed by a dark-haired older woman who came up short just as she entered the room, staring at Helena. Helena was equally taken aback, and Myka exchanged a confused look with the girl, who shrugged at her. Obviously she had no idea either. Helena broke the silence first.

“Helen Magnus. I saw the name but I thought that it had to be a co-incidence.”

“Helena,” the other woman said, visibly composing herself and offering a smile. “What an... unexpected surprise.”

“I could say the same,” Helen countered. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Mom? What's going on? Who is she?” Myka was pleased that the girl had asked, because she was just about to do the same and she wasn't sure if she would get a straight answer out of Helena. Perhaps this 'Helen Magnus' would be more forthcoming.

“Ashley, I'd like you to meet H.G. Wells. Helena, this is my daughter, Ashley. Helena and I knew each other in London in eighteen eighty-four – she was auditing classes at the School of Science and I was invited to lecture. Helena had one of the most brilliant minds in the room and yet she wasn't allowed to do anything more than attend lectures. Tragic.”

“I think that you had the most brilliant mind in the room actually, Helen,” Helena interjected with a smile.

Myka was staring at Helen now, utterly confused. There was no way that this woman was older than Helen. Unless there was an artefact involved. There must be. Which meant that really, she needed to find out what it was and probably confiscate it. Although it wasn't what they had been sent to look for, so maybe... And how was she mixed up in this, anyway? It was all very suspicious.

“Okay, so how come she's still alive? Was she one of the--” Helen cut Ashley off in the middle of the sentence with a swift shake of her head and a warning look.

“No – I don't know how she's here. I think Helena has some explaining to do, although I have an inkling of what might have been involved.”

Helena bit her bottom lip, and took a deep breath.

“Actually, Dr Magnus, I think you have some explaining to do,” Myka interrupted, when it looked as if Helena was about to reveal things that were not meant to be revealed. Helen laughed.

“You don't need to be so secretive, I know all about Helena's involvement with the Warehouse, and I assume that's why you're here.”

Myka blinked, and Helena shrugged.

“I was never a part of Warehouse Twelve,” Helen continued, “but I did consult for them on occasion, before I branched out on my own. You see, whilst your specialty is the peculiar objects of the world, mine is the peculiar beings.”

Myka was still very confused. Beings? What was she talking about? Helen sighed.

“I see that man is as stubborn as ever. If I had known that Mr Nielsen could hold a grudge for quite so long, I would have simply allowed him to think that he was right. I take it he's never told you about my operation?”

Myka shook her head, while Helena seemed intrigued. Apparently she was no wiser than Myka was.

“You see, while there are strange objects in the world that man cannot yet understand, there are also strange beings – mythical beings, you might say, although we refer to them as abnormals. Vampires, werewolves, yetis, they all exist. I founded an international group dedicated to studying, preserving, and at times controlling these abnormals. We call ourselves the Sanctuary. Time was, we worked with Warehouse agents whenever our fields converged, but I'm afraid that a disagreement between Mr Nielsen and myself over whether a certain object fell under his purview or mine has lead to a distressing break in communications. I'd thought it would all have come to a head long before this, frankly, I'm surprsied that it's taken as long as it has.”

While she was speaking, Helen had crossed the room and taken a seat in an armchair across from the couch where Helena and Myka were seated. Ashley was hovering protectively nearby – which was an interesting way to see it, Myka observed. Why was 'protective' the word which came to mind? The girl couldn't be much more than twenty, if she was even that old.

“As for how I'm still here,” Helen continued, “which is a question that I know both of you are dying to ask, I'll say that working at the very forefront of abnormal science is not without it's advantages. Now, Helena, would you care to explain yourself?”

“I,” Helena started, and then paused, giving Myka a look that she had never seen before. It seemed that Helena was pleading with her, silently. Myka was sure that she didn't want this woman - someone she had doubtless looked up to, because if they had met in eighteen eighty-four then Helena would have been a mere eighteen and a female professor must have been a role model to her - to know that she had been subject to a process normally reserved for the very worst criminals.

“She was frozen in time,” Myka interrupted. “Over a hundred years ago. She's only been in this century for a short time.”

The look that Helena gave her was incredibly grateful, and Myka smiled slightly at her. There was no reason to go into any more detail than that.

“Well, we're all introduced,” Helen said, before smiling at Myka. “With the exception of yourself. Helena? Aren't you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” Helena looked abashed. “Where are my manners. Helen Magnus, this is Myka Bering, a fellow agent. Myka, Helen was, as she said, a professor when I was studying biology but she also became a good friend. Sadly, we lost touch shortly after Christina was born.”

“You always did have a knack of ending up with the most fetching partners,” Helen observed, and Myka was surprised to see Helena blushing. She wondered what stories Helen could tell her about Helena's younger days. “You'll have to be very careful, Agent Bering, this one's a ladykiller. She even tried to seduce me when we first met. She very nearly succeeded as well. If I didn't have a personal rule about sleeping with my students...”

Helena laughed and turned the full force of her sensual smile on Helen. “You can hardly blame me, Helen – I was a teenager and just discovering my sexuality and you were just as beautiful then as you are now. Moreover, you were a woman who was respected in the scientific community. How could I not have fallen a little in love?”

“Do you see?” Helena addressed her remark to Myka, who was consternated to feel a hard knot of jealousy forming in the pit of her stomach. “She is a terrible flirt. Helena, dear, it's not nice to make a lady feel uncomfortable.”

Helena made a noise of disbelief, shaking her head. “You, uncomfortable? You are the most unflappable person I've ever met.”

“I wasn't referring to myself,” Helen corrected, with a wicked grin. “I was talking about your fetching partner, who looks as if she would like an excuse to claw my eyes out.”

Myka's mouth fell open, and Helena raised an eyebrow and fixed her with a contemplative stare. Myka felt heat rising in her cheeks, and knew that she had to change the subject before she made a fool out of herself.

“Well, that explains why you're involved in this case, Dr Magnus. What can you tell us?”

“Why don't I show you?” Helen offered. “I have the two latest victims prepped for autopsy right now, I'd be quite happy for you to observe. You may even spot something that I miss.”

“That would be perfect, thank you,” Myka agreed, relieved that the subject was being dropped – at least for the time being. She coud still feel Helena's eyes on her. This was not over.

***

The bodies – a woman of perhaps thirty and an older man who could have been anywhere between forty and a well preserved sixty - were laid out in the garage, which had been draped with sterile sheeting and made over into a facility that would not have looked out of place in a leading scientific institution. Myka had no idea what most of the machines that were beeping and flashing around the room were. Whoever this 'Sanctuary' group were, they were obviously very well funded.

Two trolleys sat in the middle of the room with bright spotlights focussed on them. Helen must have barely started the autopsy when Myka and Helena arrived, because the woman had a Y-incision in her chest and abdomen, but that was the extent of her work.

“I've measured all of the wounds and the data is on the laptop,” Helen said as she picked up a pair of rubber gloves from the trolley. “I ran comparisons to all known species of large predator, both normal and abnormal. I haven't found an exact match, unfortunately; the tooth pattern seems lupine in configuration but the size of the bite is far larger than any natural wolf. It doesn't match any species of werewolf I'm familiar with either. We're dealing with something strange but whether it's an abnormal or something more in your line of work remains to be seen.”

Helena was poring over the comparisons of bites with fascination while Myka moved over to the cadavers, wrinkling her nose at the strong chemical smell that lingered around them. There was an odd dark staining on the skin around the wounds that had her interested.

“Was that dark staining present before you started?” She asked, and Helen looked up from her probing of the woman's abdominal cavity.

“Dark – oh, I see. No, I swabbed the wounds with a silver nitrate solution as soon as I'd taken photographs of the wounds and measured them. It's better to be safe than sorry – if there was any chance of these bodies getting up again, that should have prevented it. Just in case – I don't know that this wasn't a variety of werewolf attack.”

“Fascinating,” Helena murmured into Myka's ear and she started, not having heard Helena coming up behind her. She was leaning over Myka's shoulder, looking to see what Myka had seen. “Silver is efficacious in any form, then, it doesn't have to be pure?”

“No,” Ashley chirped with a bloodthirsty grin from the other side of the room, where she was sitting wrong-way on a rolling chair, her arms folded across the back rest. “Anything silver-based poisons the vicious bastards. It's quicker with liquids, too, gets into the blood stream faster.”

“Well,” Helena said into Myka's ear, quietly. “In the event that we ever come across a pack of werewolves, that's worth knowning.”

“Indeed,” Myka agreed dryly, moving away to examine the other body.

Helena's warm breath brushing across her sensitive ear had not been conducive to an investigative state of mind. She caught Helen's eye across the body and flushed, looking down. Helena's old professor was far too astute for Myka to be entirely comfortable around her.

“That's odd,” she said after a moment, moving to look at the woman's left hand more closely. “I'm sure that I saw...”

She moved back to the man, and after a moment found what she thought she had seen. No, she hadn't imagined it. There was a marking that looked like a tattoo on the woman's left hand, two curved black lines in the shape of a small crescent moon on the webbing between the thumb and forefinger. The same marking was on the ankle of the other corpse, barely visible as it seemed to be extremely old and faded, blurring into an undistinguished black smudge.

“What do you make of this?”

Helen placed the organ she had just removed from the abdomen of the cadaver down in a kidney bowl and moved to inspect Myka's discovery, holding her gory hands well out of the way. Myka wrinkled her nose. She'd never enjoyed this part of the job. Helena didn't even seem to notice as she bent over to look.

“Well,” Helen said thoughtfully, “the crescent moon would be an obvious werewolf marking, so there seems to be some connection between these poor unfortunates and their manner of death.”

“It's also,” Helena observed, twisting the ankle of the older man to get a better view of his tattoo, “an ancient alchemical symbol for silver. Which could put an interesting spin on this.”

“You think they were hunting the thing that killed them?” Myka asked, and Helena shrugged.

“It's a sensible conclusion to draw. After all, they weren't local, these two, unlike the previous victims – in fact, they're unidentified, aren't they?”

Myka nodded and flipped through the notes on the pair that the French authorities had given them. No-one seemed to have any idea who they were, or even where they were staying.

“Yes,” she said. “John and Jane Doe, or whatever term the French use. And according to this they were both carrying handguns that had been recently fired.”

“Looks like we've got us some rogue werewolf hunters,” Ashley piped up. “Pity we don't know if they had silver ammo. Shall I put some feelers out, Mom, see if anyone knows anything? I don't want to run into any more members of their little gang, if that's what's going on.”

“That would seem wise,” Helen agreed, getting back to her work. “Well, I don't seem to be turning up anything interesting, I'm afraid. I'll let you know if I do find anything, but this could be a long and rather tedious process – there's no need for you to observe. In fact, why don't you two and Ashley see if you can find out anything about our pair of possible hunters? If, of course,” she said, looking up with a rather wry smile on her face, “you have no objection to joining teams. We have the same goal in mind, after all, and anything we find will fall under either your purview or ours.”

Helena raised an eyebrow at Myka, who shrugged. If Helena trusted Helen, and certainly she had seemed to be trustworthy so far, she had no objections. She wasn't so sure about Ashley though – from the few words they had exchanged the girl seemed to be somewhat of a loose cannon. Still, better to have her where they could keep an eye on her.

“I have no objection,” Helena said, and Myka nodded her acceptance.

“Notice no-one asks me,” Ashley muttered under her breath as she rose in a fluid movement from her chair. Her jacket shifted as she did and Myka noticed the tell-tale shape of a pistol in the small of her back, and she raised her opinion of the girl. She had the muscles of an athelete, the poise of a dancer, and assuming that she could use that gun, she could be an asset in the field. Assuming that they ever got into a fight.

“I'm gonna make a few calls, see if I can scare anything up. I'll be right back.” She pulled her pone out of the back pocket of her jeans and headed through the side door of the garage, back into the house.

“Did you keep the clothes?” Myka asked, and Helen pointed with her scalpel to a pile of neatly folded clothes. “May I?” Helen nodded and returned to what she was doing, leaving Myka to shrug and start to go through the clothes. Maybe she would turn something up that the police had missed – which wasn't terribly likely, but you never knew.

“I'm going to call Arthur,” Helena said. “Hopefully he'll be in a good mood.”

“You might want to forgo mentioning me,” Helen told her, not looking up from what she was doing. “We didn't part on the best of terms.”

“That's possibly wise,” Helena agreed. “I think he must have something against Helens. And Helenas. I shall just have to hope that Leena baked those oatmeal cranberry cookies he's so fond of.”

She held out an expectant hand to Myka who stared at her blankly before flushing, and handing over the Farnsworth that she had in her inner pocket. Why did she turn into a complete idiot around Helena? It was embarrassing.

Helena turned away only to catch Helen's gaze. The older woman dropped her a sly wink before returning to her carving, and Helena scowled at the top of Helen's head. That woman was a menace. Rolling her eyes, she fipped open the Farnsworth and called Artie.

“Myka? Oh, Agent Wells. What can I do for you?”

'Agent Wells' was always a bad sign, but aside from that he was being perfectly civil. Perhaps the cookies had been plain oatmeal.

“We've found what could potentially be a couple of werewolf hunters,” Helena said. “Dead, unfortunately, and so far we have no idea who they are. They both have a small tattoo of a crescent moon, just an outline, is there anything in the database?”

While Artie, muttering to himself, searched the computer system, Helena stepped up next to Myka to watch her going methodically through the clothing of the deceased. So far, she didn't seem to have found anything of any note.

“Here,” Artie said, five minutes later. “There are a few unsubstatiated rumours of a werewolf hunting group that was based in France in the Eighteenth Century that used the alchmical symbol for silver as an identifying mark. It was one of their membership who's meant to have killed the Beast of Gévaudan, which is a pretty big co-incidence. That's all I can find though. You think that's what you're looking for? A werewolf?”

He sounded distinclty sceptical, and Helena had to stap herself from rolling her eyes at him. For someone so steeped in mystery and the paranormal, he could be remarkably reluctant to admit the possibilty of some things.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she said. “We certainly seem to have run into some people who thought that they were. If we can find out who they were we may be able to discover more. Thank you, Arthur, we'll call again as soon as we find anything out.”

“You've seen the autopsy results?” He asked, just as she was about to close the Farnsworth.

“We're there right now,” Helena said. “Nothing of any use, unfortunately – the bite marks don't match any known species, so we're dealing with something strange. We're just not sure what.”

Artie nodded.

“Keep me apprised, Helena,” he said, before looking to the side and giving her an absent wave before shutting off the connection.

“He called you Helena,” Myka observed, and Helena grinned at her.

“So he did,” she agreed. “Which is nice. Have you found anything?”

“No,” Myka said glumly, putting the last piece of clothing down. “Not a thing. And we really do need to find out who these two are, or this investigation is going to grind to a rather frustrating halt.”

“You'll be glad to hear I know who they are, then,” came a smug voice from the doorway, and the three women looked to to see Ashley standing there with a smug look on her face and her phone in her hand.

“Your 'feelers' returned with fruit, I take it?” Helen said, and Ashley smirked.

“Yeah,” Ashely grinned. “Their names are Christien and Sabine Chastel, and we were right, they're werewolf hunters. Their whole family has been for generations. I've got an address for them, and their family is going to claim the bodies.”

“Good work, Ashley,” Helen told her, and Ashley grinned at her mother.

Myka couldn't help nodding, impressed at how quickly the girl had managed to find out something that doubtless would have eluded them for days. They might never have found out the hunter connection. Whatever problem Artie had with the Sanctuary, she thought it was time he dealt with it – they could be extremely useful allies.

“Why don't you three go to the address,” Helen suggested, “while I finish up here? I can join you if I finish before you return.”

“That works,” Ashely nodded, “I'll take my bike and meet you there.”

***

The Chastels had been staying in a run-down farmhouse a few miles outside of the town and when they first pulled up Myka thought that perhaps this was the wrong address. The roof of the farmhouse was sagging dratically and several of the windows were boarded over. The driveway was overgrown with weeds and the gate was hanging off its hinges. But as she slowed outside the gate, Myka noticed recent tire tracks leading around the side of the house.

“Well, this must be it. And there's Ashley's motorcyle – that girl drives like a demon.” Myke stopped the car next to Ashley's motorcyle, and unbuckled her seatbelt.

“It looks like fun,” Helena said as she climbed out of the car. “Perhaps I will look into learning to drive one of those machines.”

“You should,” Ashley said, shaking her hair out as she put her black helmet down on the seat of the bike. “It's fun and besides, you'd look hot in leather. Guys dig the leather.” She glanced at Myka and then winked at Helena. “Girls too.”

Myka flushed, and she wasn't sure whether it was at the insinuation that she would like Helena in leather, or the fact that she was imagining it and the idea was definitely appealing. Helena would look absolutely fabulous in skintight leather. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“I'm sure that if you want to learn to ride one of those dangerous things then there's nothing stopping you. I'm sure Pete could give you some pointers – or Claudia, for that matter.”

“I shall definitely look into it,” Helena said taking out her modified Tesla and heading towards the side of the house, following the tyre tracks. “But for now, we have a job to do.”

Myka was rather relieved that Helena had changed the subject, and took out her own Tesla and followed her. Ashley had her own handgun out, and when she noticed Myka looking askance at it, she sighed.

“Tranq rounds. The silver clip is in the other one. Happy?”

Myka blinked. She'd totally failed to make the second pistol, and was annoyed with herself for missing it. She was still not seeing it though – where on earth did Ashley have it?

“Yes, fine,” she said. “I'm sure you know what you're doing.” She was sure Ashley did – as soon as they'd reached the farmhouse she'd seen Ashley's demeanour shift from slightly-petulant girl to competant woman. It was impressive.

Helena was peering around the side of the building and, obviously seeing nothing, she motioned to them to follow. The tyre tracks lead to a ramshackle lean-to garage with no doors, which housed an ancient, beaten-up four-by-four. It appeared to be deserted, but they approached carefully.

The vehicle was locked and Myka turned away in frustration, as there was a battered leather wallet on the passenger seat with papers spilling out of it. That was the best lead they had so far, and they couldn't actually get at it.

Until Ashley opened the door. Myka turned back in time to see her slipping a slim piece of metal into her jeans pocket, and sighed. Of course Ashley would be an expert at breaking into cars. She was getting the feeling that respect for the law ranked rather low on Ashley's list of priorities. Which was at this particular moment in time something of an advantage. She pretended she had seen nothing.

“How careless of them to leave a door open,” Ashley said impishly, winking at Helena who simply laughed easily. Ashley leaned across the seats and caught up the wallet, taking it to the hood of the four-by-four and opening it out.

“Right. Let's see what we have here.”

There were pages and pages of hand-written notes, in a cramped, rushed hand – and all in French, of course. Myka realised quickly that she wasn't going to be able to get anything from them without a considerable amount of time, and aimed a questioning look at Helena.

“May I?” Helena aimed the question at Ashley, who shrugged and stepped back.

“Go ahead. My French sucks, yours can't be any worse.”

Helena picked up the sheaf of notes and began to leaf slowly though them, murmuring to herself in French.

“Well, they did think there was a werewolf here,” she said after a few pages. “But not the usual kind, whatever that means. They were looking for a... I'm not familiar with the word, but later on they mention a 'wolf belt' or possibly 'wolf strap', I'm not quite sure. They thought that the Beast – they've been referring to it as that – is a man who can change into a wolf-creature at will.”

She flipped quickly through to the last piece of paper.

“Right. Last thing they wrote, they'd tracked the Beast to the Parc du Gévaudan, that's the wolf sanctuary up in the mountains, and they were going to confront him there. They must have been attacked before they got there though – their bodies weren't found in the parc.”

Myka was grinning at Ashley, who looked pretty pleased herself. This was a fabulous break. It was tragic for the Chastels, of course, but their work meant that Myka and Helena – and Ashley and Helen, of course – should be able to find the Beast and deal with him.

“There's a name.” Helena continued. “Abel Griswold. Which is – yes, he's German. I wonder why he's in France, re-enacting a French werewolf legend.”

“Who cares,” Ashley said. “We still need to deal with him.”

“Non-lethally,” Myka told her sternly, and Ashley gave her a distinctly teenage look.

“Yes, Mom,” she said pointedly. “I'm aware. Bag and tag. Lethal force only if necessary. Yadda yadda.”

Ashley, Myka was rapidly concluding, was a brat.

***

It was late afternoon by the time they finally made it to the Parc du Gévaudan to confront Abel Griswold. The German had come into the country with the parc's most recent influx of wolves, four young females exchanged with the Bialowieza National Park in Poland. At this time of day, he should still be working, and hopefully they would be able to confront him with the minimum of fuss. They timed their arrival for a few minutes before the parc shut, hoping to avoid any visitors.

That was the theory.

Helen called Artie while Myka was driving. When he answered he actually looked pleased to see her, and Helena restrained the impulse to ask Myka to check out of the window for porcine avians.

“Ah, Helena, what do you have for me?”

“We've got a name and an artefact – what can you tell me about a 'wolf strap' or 'wolf belt', probably German, possibly Polish?”

“That sounds familiar,” Artie muttered, pushing his glasses up on his forehead and turning away from the Farnsworth. Helena was treated to an extended view of his left ear while he typed and muttered away. “Here it is. 'Wolf strap. Item used to transform a human into an immense wolf-like creature. Legend says that the wolf strap is given during a pact with the devil in exchange for the wearer's immortal soul. To remove the strap, simply state the wearer's true name and they will return to their natural form.'”

He returned to the Farnsworth and looked around for his glasses. Helena did not point out that they were perched on his forehead.

“I don't suppose you know his name?”

“We have _a_ name,” Helena said, shrugging. “But I don't suppose it's his real name for a moment, not if knowing his name is so powerful. Abel Griswold.”

“Abel – Abel... One moment.” Artie turned away from the Farnsworth again, and Helena could hear him tapping away again. “Thought so!” He exclaimed triumphantly. “Abel or Ubel Griswold was one of the pseudonyms of Peter Stübbe, a man who was convicted and executed for black magic in fifteen eighty-nine. He claimed to have a belt given to him by Satan that turned him into a huge wolf. It's entirely possible that this is the same man – it's worth a try, anyway.”

He finally found his glasses and pushed them up his nose, fixing Helena with a serious expression. “Be careful, Helena. If this man is really the same Peter Stübbe he's going to be extremely dangerous.”

“Don't worry, Arthur,” she told him. “We're quite capable of handling ourselves.” She debated mentioning Helen for a moment, but decided against it. She could tell him after they had dealt with this Abel or Peter or whoever he was.

The two vehicles – Helena and Myka's rented Renault and Helen's oversized Citroen (Ashley had been made to leave her motorcycle behind) pulled into the car-park, which was almost deserted. The few cars still there were all in the employees section, so it seemed that they wouldn't have any members of the public to worry about – just the other parc employees.

All four women convened in the space between the two cars, and exchanged serious nods. They'd agreed on a plan before they'd left for the parc – Myka and Helena would make the first approach, as if they were simply following up the sensible notion that the deaths had something to do with the wolves in the parc. If they could get Abel on his own, they would probe further into his involvement. Helen and Ashley wouldn't be far away.

They all hoped that there would be no actual violence (with the possible exception of Ashley) – but none of them believed that was likely. If Abel – or Peter – was behind all of the deaths, he wasn't likely to come quietly. They were prepared for a fight. Besides their Teslas, Helena and Myka both also had silver bullets, provided by Helen, although Helen and Helena both thought that the Tesla might prove an even more effective weapon. Helen and Ashley were carrying both silver and tranquilliser rounds.

“Ready?” Myka asked Helena, who nodded.

“Be careful, Myka,” she said as they started to walk towards the parc office. “I don't mean to say that you're not one of the most capable agents I've ever worked with but – well. Please, be careful.”

“Always,” Myka told her with a small smile. Then they were at the office, and Myka gestured for Helena to go in first.

 _”Good afternoon,”_ she said to the young woman behind the reception desk with a polite smile. _”Agents Helena Wells and Myka Bering, we're investigating the recent deaths – we were hoping to speak to one of your colleagues. Apparently you brought in several new wolves just before the attacks began – we'd just like to rule them out in our investigation.”_ Helena's expression and tone were light and non-threatening – if Abel thought that they had no idea of his involvement he would be more likely to go with them. Overconfidence would, they hoped, be his downfall.

 _”Would you like to speak with M Griswold? He's the keeper in charge of settling those animals – I'm sure he can clear everything up for you,”_ came the answer, and Helena treated the young receptionist to one of her brilliant smiles.

 _”That would be perfect, thank you very much. If you could just let us know where he is I'm sure that we can find him – there's no need to take him away from his duties.”_

 _“At this time of day he should be checking the perimeter of their enclosure – those four are still in quarantine, of course. It's not very far – if you go through the back door and follow the path around to the right, you'll come to a large enclosure after about half a mile, it's quite clearly marked. M Griswold will be there – I'll radio ahead and let him know to expect you.”_

 _“Thank you, we appreciate it.”_

While the receptionist raised Abel Griswold on the parc's radio system, Helena and Myka headed through the reception area towards the back door. Helen and Ashley would trail them once they got inside the parc, keeping out of sight. They needed as many advantages over Griswold as they could get.

“So far, so good,” Myka said. “This feels much too easy though – I really don't think this one is going to fall into our laps, do you?”

“No,” Helena admitted, shaking her head. “No, if we're really dealing with a five-hundred-year-old satanic werewolf, I definitely don't. But we have a few aces up our sleeves that he doesn't know about. I'm – what's the phrase? Quietly confident?”

“That's the one,” Myka agreed. “This place is lovely, isn't it? I'd rather have visited it under more auspicious circumstances though.”

“As would I,” Helena smiled. “Perhaps we can come back after we've dealt with this, if it doesn't end in disaster, and pretend we're tourists?”

“I'd like that,” Myka grinned. “I haven't had a real holiday in far too long.”

“I am not sure that a half-day in a nature park counts as a holiday,” Helena told her. “When this is over, why don't we see if we can take a couple of days leave? I'd love to show you Paris.”

“That would be wonderful,” Myka said shyly, blushing faintly. Paris, the most romantic city in the world, with Helena? She wasn't sure if it would be paradise or torture – or perhaps both at the same time.

“I shall consider that a promise,” Helena told her, before coming to a halt.

In front of them was a twelve-foot high chain-link fence, a gap of eight feet, and a second fence. The outer fence was hung with warning signs denoting it as a quarantine area. Inside, there was rough scrub and bare earth, a small shed, and four wolves lazing in the late sunshine. The smallest raised her head and eyed them curiously before yawning widely, showing off sharp, white teeth and a long curling tongue. She dropped her head back onto her paws but they could see the glint of her eyes still watching them from below half-lowered lids.

“Okay, being stared at by a wolf is kinda creepy,” Myka muttered.

Then, in unison, all four wolves lifted their heads and looked along the fence, their body language expectant, eager even. Their tails thumped slightly on the ground, and Helena nudged her arm and pointed in the direction the wolves were staring. Coming towards them was a craggy-looking man who appeared to be around fifty, sporting a short, salt and pepper beard and grey hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt that pulled tight across his chest so that they could see his muscles flexing as he walked, and tight blue jeans. He was a powerful figure of a man.

 _”M Griswold?”_ Helen asked, pleasantly, as he drew nearer to them.

“You're the American agents?” He replied, in barely-accented English.

“Yes,” Myka said, “we were hoping to talk to you about your wolves. I'm sure you know about the recent deaths – we just want to clear them of any involvement.”

“Well, as you can see,” he said, with a wide smile that exposed teeth that seemed too sharp, “they're not going anywhere.”

“Indeed,” Helena drawled. “As they weren't involved, perhaps you might have an idea of who was?” She raised an eyebrow, and Griswold looked from Myka to Helena and back, a confused look on his face.

“Me? Why should I know anything?”

“We know about the belt, Mr Griswold,” Myka said.

His expression changed at that, from confusion to a devilish grin that changed the pleasant lines of his face into something far more sinister. Myka felt a cold prickle run up her spine, and took a step backwards.

“How unfortunate,” he said, grin getting wider by the moment. “For you, that is.”

Then he snarled, a sound that no human throat should have been able to produce, and the words that came spilling out of his mouth next were strange and contorted, unnatural sounding. Then he leapt. One second, there was a man standing there – the next, an immense black wolf-like figure, as tall as the man had been, was bunching itself up and launching itself through the air towards Myka, snarling, huge fangs bared.

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

Myka's Tesla was half-drawn but before she could fire off a shot the beast had knocked her backwards and it's teeth were fastened into her shoulder. Helena didn't have time to think. It was perhaps best that she didn't because if she had been thinking, her fear for Myka would have paralysed her.

“Peter Stübbe!” She yelled, firing her Tesla at the same time, over the sound of Myka's anguished scream.

As Helena yelled and Myka screamed two gunshots sounded out from the woods close by, and where one moment Myka had been fighting off a huge black creature now the limp body of a man was draped over her. Desperately, Helena heaved the man – Abel, Peter, whoever the hell he was, she didn't care and if Myka was seriously hurt she was going to shoot him again and it wouldn't be with tranquilliser bullets or the Tesla – off Myka's unmoving body.

Her neck and shoulder was a mess of blood and torn flesh and Helena frantically pulled off her jacket, rolling it into a tight ball and pressing it down onto the wound.

“Myka! Oh Christ, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” Her hands were being pushed away and she fought to keep them where they were before she realised that it was Helen who was trying to intervene.

“Helena. Helena!” She took a deep breath and met Helen's calm, steady gaze. “Call for an ambulance. Now. Ashley will deal with him, I'll do what I can here, but she needs an ambulance.”

Helena nodded, trying to calm the shaking of her hands. Oh God, her hands, she was covered in Myka's blood. But she needed to be steady now, couldn't fall apart. Somehow, she managed to dial and request medical assistance, giving out their address and details. When she hung up, Helen was still busy, and she looked worried. That couldn't be good.

Ashley had secured their prisoner, who was, damn him, still breathing – she'd unthreaded his belt from his jeans, and now she was offering Helena his radio. Helena looked blankly at her.

“They must have first aid facilities here in case of wolf attack,” Ashley said impatiently. “And I don't speak decent French! You need to call for help.”

Helena snatched for the radio with even a word of thanks, and she didn't even hear Ashley's sarcastic 'you're welcome'. She was far too worried. Myka had to be ok. She couldn't envision coping in this world without her. Myka was the only thing that had been keeping her sane – without her, she might as well just step back into the bronzer.

***

 _Paris, France  
Three days later_

“Not quite what I had in mind when I suggested Paris,” Myka said weakly, and Helena smiled and patted her hand.

Once Myka had been stabilised, she had been transferred to a specialist facility in Paris for reconstructive surgery on her neck and shoulder – the bite had torn through some major muscles but she'd been assured that with physical therapy and rest she would be back to normal in no time – not that Myka thought that the time frame they had given her was 'no time'.

“Nor me,” Helena agreed ruefully. “I'm so sorry I didn't act faster, Myka. This could all have been avoided.”

“Don't be silly,” Myka told her sternly, trying to sit up and collapsing back onto her pillows with a pained expression. “You saved my life, Helena. Without your quick action he would have done far more damage. I don't know how to thank you.”

“You don't need to,” Helena said softly, stroking the hand she still held in hers. “Myka, if I'd lost you...”

She looked away, unable to meet Myka's eyes. She couldn't begin to think what she would have done, it hurt too much. To have lost her without ever really admitting how she felt – it was unthinkable. But she couldn't tell her now, not when Myka was weak and vulnerable and feeling in her debt – it just wouldn't be fair. She bit her lip.

“Helena.” She felt Myka's fingers curling around hers and looked back to her, to see Myka's lips curved in a sweet smile, and a strange expression in her eyes. “I never want to lose you either.”

Helena's breath caught in her throat for a moment, and then she returned Myka's smile. Perhaps she could tell her sooner than she thought. Not now, though. Such declarations deserved a more romantic setting than a hospital bed, even if it did have a view over the rooftops of Paris.

“You will not lose me,” she promised, squeezing Myka's fingers. “I swear it.”

***

 _Just Outside Univille, South Dakota  
Same time_

“Arthur Nielsen, will you never change?”

Artie scowled at Helen Magnus, who had delivered the wolf strap to the Warehouse as Myka and Helena were still in France and would be for some days longer while Myka recuperated.

“Can we just put this behind us? This debacle amply proved just why the Sanctuary and Warehouse need to, if not work together at least share information. We have Peter Stübbe safely locked away and the wolf strap is stored in your facility.”

“Fine,” Artie allowed, grumpily having to admit that she was right. “Fine, we'll keep you in the loop if anything comes up that looks like you could help. Even if I still say that dragon egg belongs in the Warehouse.”

“And if it hatches?” Helen asked, sweetly. “No, I think it's quite safe where it is. Don't worry, we're taking very good care of it.”

Artie scowled and muttered something unintelligible. Helen just smiled sweetly at him.

“Actually, don't change, Arthur,” she told him, chuckling quietly. “Goodbye – and take care. And take care of Helena for me – she's a very dear friend.” Her expression changed to utter seriousness with that last statement.

“Agent Wells can take care of herself,” he said grumpily.

“I'm sure that 'Agent Wells' can,” Helen said. “But I was talking about Helena. The woman who has been wrenched out of her own time and finds herself somewhere completely alien. This is hard for her, Arthur – she could use your support.”

“Well, she has it,” Artie said, gruffly. “I'll admit I didn't trust her, but... Well... Perhaps I was wrong.” He had taken his glasses off and was polishing them, refusing to meet Helen's gaze. Admitting her was wrong was not something he did with particularly good grace.

“Thanks, Arthur,” Helen said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Artie blushed. “It means a lot to me.”

“You're welcome,” he said. “Now get out of my Warehouse! I have work to do.”

Helen sketched a mocking salute at Artie's already-turned back, and let herself out of the office. It would be good to be connected to the Warehouse again – especially now that Helena Wells was back. She wondered if that pretty agent, the one who was so painfully obviously in love with Helena, had any idea what she was letting herself in for. Probably not – but it would be fun watching her finding out.


End file.
